


Typewriter Boy

by lunnatix_x



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Character Death, Forgotten Identity, Gen, Government Experimentation, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Missing Persons, Old Shop, Oneshot, Plane Crash, Plot Twists, Secret Identity, Shop Owner AU, Typewriter, antique shop, writetober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunnatix_x/pseuds/lunnatix_x
Summary: Modern AU. - Alfred F. Jones is the owner of an old antique shop in Melbourne, Australia. In the past, his shop used to be the centre of attention, but in later days, it’s excitement seemed to have died down. One day, Alfred meets a young man who buys an old typewriter from him. It seems that the man isn’t who he appears to be.





	Typewriter Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired an old Aphmau fanfiction I read years ago called ‘Antique’ by The-Laurmau-Army on Wattpad. I loved it and decided to base this story on it :)
> 
> This Oneshot was originally written on my Wattpad account for Writetober and is not meant to be a full length book. I might change my mind later but for now this is all this story is going to be.
> 
> Enjoy!

Alfred had always wanted his own shop, it had been his dream since he was a child. Whenever his half-brother, Matthew, came around, the two always played shopkeeper. Fortunately for Alfred, his dream had never seemed that far out of reach.  
  
His family owned a small shop on the corner of Elizabeth Street in Melbourne, Australia. From the outside, it was nothing too extravagant, just another old shop in an old city. On the inside however, it was as if history had come to life. The place was an antique shop, selling items that the Jones family had saved for nearly two centuries. The dark brown wallpaper was once put up by Aiyana Jones, the founder of the shop, herself in 1851.   
  
Alfred had heard the story many times before. Aiyana's husband found out about the gold rush happening in Australia, and the two quickly migrated to Ballarat from America. Eventually, the rush died off and the two decided to make a life for themselves in Melbourne. Aiyana opened up a little shop and decided to sell old collectables. The shop gained attention, and soon it became the family business.   
  
Alfred sighed. Of course, that was in 1851, over 169 years in the past. It was 2019 now, and the shop no longer gained the attention it used to get back in the old days.   
  
He looked outside at the weather outside. Clouds rolled in from the distance, covering up the sun. It looked like it was about to rain.   
  
"Damn," he muttered to himself, "June is the worst."   
  
Deciding that no one was gonna come in, he decided to go into the back and organise the boxes that he had been putting off for weeks.   
  
Not five minutes had passed when he suddenly heard the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. He lifted his head up and walked back to the main shop.   
  
A man walked in, wearing a black suit that was dripping with water. Alfred raised a brow and looked outside, it was pouring.   
  
"Good... morning?" He stated to the man, though it sounded more like a question.   
  
The man brushed his wet, sandy blond hair away from his face. When the man looked up at Alfred, his emerald green eyes seemed to widen. He stuttered and cleared his throat. "Good day, I'm sorry for barging in, I just needed somewhere to get away from the rain."   
  
Alfred nodded. "Nah, it's all good dude. Do you want me to get you a towel?" He offered, not sure what to say to the man. _ What the hell was that reaction? _   
  
"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you."   
  
Alfred nodded and quickly walked into the back, picking out the first clean towel he found and walked back to the front. He handed the towel to the man. "Here you go."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Alfred gasped. "Hey, you're British, aren't you?!"   
  
The man placed the towel on his wet hair and looked up at Alfred. "No, I'm Italian." He said sarcastically, drying his hair off.   
  
"Oh really? I swear your accent sounds British, I guess I can't tell my accents that well after all. Darn Matt, lying to me." He muttered to himself.   
  
The man raised a confused brow. Was this guy serious?   
  
"I'm just kidding, you know." He said warily.   
  
"Oh?" Alfred asked. "OH!" He exclaimed. "Right! Brits are famous for sarcasm, I'm sorry, I completely forgot about that."   
  
The man shook his head and chuckled. "Anyway, thanks a lot." He handed Alfred the towel. "What's this shop you have here?"   
  
Alfred smiled, he loved telling people about his family's shop. "It's an antique shop my family owns. We have items dating back from World War I, if you're interested in that stuff."   
  
The man gave a slight nod. "You don't happen to have a typewriter do you?"   
  
"Of course, do you have any specific brands in mind?" Alfred asked.   
  
"How about an Underwood typewriter?" The man asked.   
  
Alfred nodded. "I'm sure we have one, I'll go around the back and look for one. Feel free to make yourself at home and look around, though try not to touch things, some of the items here can break at one tiny touch."   
  
"I'll be careful."   
  
Alfred smiled and walked around the back, realising that he still hadn't organised the boxes. Now he was regretting not fixing them up while he had the chance. Sighing, he picked up each box and looked through them for an Underwood typewriter.   
  
After a couple minutes, he found one and walked back out to the front.   
  
The man was looking at some old posters from World War II.   
  
Alfred walked over to him. "You into war stuff?"   
  
"Yes," the man nodded before pausing and deciding to expand on it more. "Well, you could say it hits very close to home."   
  
"Did a family member fight in it?"   
  
"I guess you could say that."   
  
Alfred nodded. "Well, I managed to find one." The man turned to him. He placed the typewriter on the table. It was a black typewriter. The letters were written in gold, and at the top was the Underwood logo as well as the label written in the same gold.   
  
"How much does it cost?" The man asked.   
  
"This one? Well, it's a rarer model, but I would say around... $500, maybe?" Alfred said, inspecting the typewriter's condition and model. "$550 at most."   
  
The man nodded. "All right, I'll buy it."   
  
Alfred looked up at the man, it was his first sale in over a week. "Really?"   
  
"Yeah, $550 you say?"   
  
Alfred nodded.   
  
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out some notes and handed it to Alfred. "Keep the change."   
  
Alfred was speechless. _ Who the heck is this guy? How the hell does he have $500 just lying around in his wallet?! _   
  
"Well, I've got to get going." The man chuckled. "I've been away for too long, they'll start getting worried."   
  
_ They? _   
  
"It was nice meeting you Al-" The man cut himself off. Alfred stared at him confusingly, wondering what he was about to say before realising the man had no idea what his name was.   
  
"Ah!" Alfred exclaimed. "My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."   
  
The man nodded, seemingly flustered. "It was nice meeting you, Alfred, and it was nice doing business with you." He said. "I'll see you around."   
  
He picked up the typewriter and went to walk out the door. Alfred was still in awe. _ See you around? _ He thought, _ I sure hope so. _   
  
"Ah, shit!" He cursed to himself and ran out the door. He looked left, right and straight ahead, but the man had gone. It was as if he teleported. Alfred frowned. "I forgot to ask his name."   
  
He looked down at the money in his hand. He raised a brow when he realised what it actually was. There were six $100 dollar notes. The man had given him $600.   
  
He let out a surprised chuckle and walked back into his shop, turning on the old TV in the corner. It was open on the news. He decided to walk around the back and finally clean up the boxes while listening to the TV in the background. He wasn't really paying attention but from what he could understand, important government officials from over 60 different countries had gone missing after a plane crashed in the Bermuda Triangle.   
  
Alfred walked out just in time to see a picture of the government officials put on screen. But what he didn't expect was what came after.   
  
A picture of a blond man with bright green eyes wearing a black suit.   
  
_ "The only known survivor of the crash, Arthur Kirkland, recently went missing. He was last seen walking around Melbourne in a black suit. If you have seen him, report to the authorities immediately.”_  
  
It was the typewriter boy.   



End file.
